Dollar Daze

by Gillespie, Karin

  “It’s okay. I don’t mind.” She smoothed her hair with the back of her hand.

  “That’s mighty kind of you.” His eyes swept around the room. “You don’t see many general stores like this anymore. Is that an old-fashioned soda fountain in the back?”

  “Yes, but I’m afraid I can’t make any sodas. Attalee… I mean, my soda jerk isn’t here tonight.”

  “Actually I didn’t come in for a drink. I was looking for something a mite more practical.” He surveyed the wooden signs hanging over each aisle.

  “Dry goods, housewares, apothecary.” As he read the signs under his breath, Mavis noticed something vaguely familiar about his face. He took a step in her direction and she backed into a display of wind chimes, which embroidered the night with a cacophony of clangs, rings, and dongs.

  “Clothing!” he said triumphantly. “I figured a general store like this would carry a little bit of everything. Do you happen to have a pair of overalls? Extra large?”

  Mavis tried to recover her voice, which seemed to have sunk to the pit of her stomach.

  “Let me check what I have in stock,” she said in a near whisper, knocking over a display of sock monkeys with her hip. The stranger leaned down to pick up the wayward toys and righted them on their shelf while Mavis trotted down the aisle, the wooden floor squeaking against her Rockport walking shoes.

  She arrived at the clothing aisle and sorted through a stack of men’s overalls, peering at the tags sewn into the fabric.

  “Extra large.” She shook out a pair of the heavy denim overalls and handed them to the stranger. He took the garment and held it up to his chest. The legs just skimmed his ankles and were clearly too short.

  “What do you think?” He patted the overalls down on his chest and grinned.

  “You’re a very brawny man.” Her voice betrayed a breathiness she hadn’t intended.

  “What the hey,” he said, folding the dungarees. “They’ll have to do until I can find me a big-and-tall store in these parts.”

  In an effort to disguise her self-consciousness, Mavis became all bustling efficiency. She strode to the cash register, rang up the purchase, and slid his credit card through the machine. Her heart nearly stopped when she glanced at the raised name on the card: Brewster Clark. Instantly a vision of a tall, muscular boy wearing a letterman’s jacket materialized in her mind.

  “Brewster Clark?” Mavis said softly, staring at the card. “Cayboo Creek High School Class of 1959. Quarterback for the Flying Squirrels?”

  “That’s me all right, and you’re...” He tapped the side of his head. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess.”

  “Mavis Flump. Actually, Mavis Loomis now. I’m sure you wouldn’t remember me.”

  “Mavis Flump? Were you a cheerleader?” His face was pensive.

  “No. I was marching band, actually. I played the bassoon. And I was treasurer for the geography club,” Mavis said in a soft voice.

  “Oh,” Brewster said, as if he now understood her rank in the adolescent hierarchy of high school. She’d been one of the invisible girls who faded into the gray landscape of the hallway lockers. A little plump, a tad shy, and definitely not the sort who would turn the head of an Adonis like Brewster Clark.

  “You use to date Prissy Stevens, the homecoming queen,” Mavis said. “I always imagined that the two of you got married.”

  “No. Prissy went away to college, and I joined the Navy. We kept in touch through her junior year, and then she married a rich real-estate developer from New York.” He stroked his beard. “The name Loomis sounds familiar to me. Did you marry someone from high school?”

  “Arnold Loomis. A lot of kids knew him because he was the Flying Squirrel mascot.”

  “Why sure,” Brewster said with a grin. “Old Acorn Arnie. I remember him. A slight fellow. Had wires coming out of his mouth.”

  “Headgear.” Mavis nodded. “He had a pronounced under-bite.”

  “How the heck is Arnie? Does he still stuff his cheeks and make that crazy squeaking sound?”

  She bowed her head. “Actually, Arnold passed on about ten years ago. He had a heart attack.”

  “Gee, I’m sorry,” Brewster said with a pained look. “I lost my wife Nettie two years ago.” He glanced up at her underneath dark lashes as luxuriant as a film star’s. “So you’re a widow and I’m a widower. I’ll be dogged.”

  Mavis blushed and slid his overalls into a brown paper shopping bag. “What brings you back to Cayboo Creek?”

  “My great-aunt passed on about six months ago, leaving me an old house on Chickasaw Drive. The property’s all grown up, so I need to clear it up some and decide what to do with it.”

  “So you won’t be with us long?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. I’m retired now with not much family to speak of, so there’s a possibility I could stay on here in Cayboo Creek. Get away from the cold winters up north. I was living in Chicago.”

  “Brrr.” Mavis handed him his purchase.

  He started out the door and then glanced back at her. “Hope to see you around town, Mavis.”

  A girlish giggle escaped her lips.

  “You too, Brewster.”

  “Call me Brew,” he said with a wink.

  As she scurried to the window to watch Brew drive off in a little red sports car, she remembered her entreaty to the heavens not ten minutes earlier.

  Heavens to Betsy! That was quicker than Domino’s pizza.

  She swept up the rest of the candy hearts on the floor, turned out the lights, and locked up for the night. As she headed to her car, she noticed that the cloud mass overhead had broken up, allowing one faint star to prick through the murkiness. God sure does work in mysterious ways, she thought. And sometimes he even delivers.

  Four

  Kids in the backseat cause accidents.

  Accidents in the backseat cause kids.

  ~ Bumper sticker on Katie Costello’s minivan

  Elizabeth sat in the small meeting room of the Cayboo Creek Library, listening to Katie Costello, president of the MommyTime group, talk about pacifiers.

  “To binky or not to binky, that is the question,” said Katie, a serious-looking young woman with long chestnut hair and oblong eyeglass frames. “I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to answer that query myself, so I’ve brought in a guest speaker. Please give a big MommyTime welcome to Dr. Flythe, a pediatric dentist from Augusta.”

  The group of mothers clapped while a balding man garbed in a white coat strode to the podium.

  “I have just one word to say to you fine ladies.” He surveyed his audience with watery blue eyes. “Overbites. Those are the consequences you’ll face unless you choose orthodontic pacifiers for your children.”

  Elizabeth ignored the droning dentist and studied the young, earnest faces of the members of the Mommy Time group. Lydia Caruthers was doodling smiley faces on a pink Post-it note; Gail Anderson was eagerly taking notes, as if preparing for a final exam; and Connie Dye was sniffing her baby’s diaper. If distress churned behind those Madonna-like masks, Elizabeth couldn’t detect it. Instead, the club members’ expressions were placid, as if motherhood was a favorite sweater they’d slipped into with ease.

  Glenda squirmed on Elizabeth’s lap. Other babies were getting restless as well. Trevor Lyons was slapping his mommy’s cheek and saying “Doh” over and over, while the Barton twins across the table were winding up for a major fuss festival. The room in the library was too small and confining for the Mommy Time group, leaving no space for active babies to crawl or careen across the carpet.

  “Thank you, Dr. Flythe, for that useful information,” Katie said, leading the group in polite applause. Just before he left, the dentist passed out child-sized toothbrushes embossed with the name of his practice. Once he was gone, Katie consulted her notes and said, “Now it’s time for our treasurer’s repo
rt. Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth stood and began passing out materials with one hand while holding Glenda with her free arm. “Thanks, Katie. I’ve prepared a portfolio for everyone, complete with diagrams. Now, if you’ll look at page one, you’ll see graphs projecting our future earnings over the next five years.”

  It took Elizabeth several minutes to give her talk, utilizing the overhead projector as well as her laptop for an elaborate PowerPoint presentation. When she finished, she took her seat and smiled expectantly at Katie.

  Katie shot her an odd look, saying, “Thank you, Elizabeth. That certainly was a thorough report.”

  “It sure as heck was considering there’s only forty-five dollars in the pot,” said Dottie Brubacker, a large, brassy blond who’d recently joined the group. “Could we get to the chow now?”

  Embarrassment blazed in Elizabeth’s cheeks. She realized the group didn’t have a lot of funds, but that was no excuse to be slipshod about their management. She’d toiled over that treasurer’s report and had looked forward to her presentation for days. Now she just felt foolish.

  “Who’s on this week’s cookie committee?” Katie asked. Before anyone could respond, someone knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” Katie called out and the elderly librarian, Miss Goodbee, tiptoed into the room. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But some members of the genealogy club want to know if they can come in and set up early. They have a slide presentation today.”

  Katie glanced at her watch. “We’re scheduled to have the room for fifteen more minutes.”

  Not waiting for an answer, Prudee Phipps and Mello Vickery pushed past the librarian, carrying a film projector and screen.

  “Gangway, ladies,” Prudee said with a merry wave of her hand. “Never mind us. We’ll be quiet as church mice. Mello, hand me that extension cord, please.”

  Mello, her eyes as dark and glittering as the glass orbs of her fox pelt, glared at the mothers. “So this is the Mommy Time group?” she said. “I’ll thank you to clean up after your offspring. Last week a member of our club nearly slipped on a soggy piece of zwieback.”

  Prudee was at the white board, writing “Getting to the roots of your family tree” with a squeaky blue marker.

  Katie pushed her glasses higher on the bridge of her nose and sighed. “I guess we’ll save the cookies for next time. Meeting adjourned.”

  The women rose from their seats, retrieving coats, children, and plastic baggies of Cheerios. The only person to take Elizabeth’s report was the two-year-old Lyons child, who was gnawing on the corner of a folder. Once the mothers had filed out of the room, Elizabeth started picking up the abandoned reports and shoving them into her briefcase. Katie, who’d presumably been lecturing the librarian about the genealogy club’s infringement on the group’s time, came back into the meeting room to pick up her diaper bag.

  “You know how scatterbrained moms are,” Katie said as she helped Elizabeth gather the rest of the reports.

  “I know.” Elizabeth tried to swallow back tears. “I just—”

  “Hey, there.” Katie clamped a hand on her shoulder. “It’s okay. I know what you’re going through. I’ll walk you to your car.”

  Outside, the drizzling sky was the color of dove feathers. Oak leaves, which had long since fallen and littered the parking lot, were slick and muddy under the women’s feet.

  “You’re the first in the group to know this, but I’m going back to work.” Katie tugged her red slouch hat down on her forehead.

  “What?” Elizabeth stopped in her tracks.

  “I can’t stand it anymore,” Katie said, rubbing her son’s back with a gloved hand. “I can’t bear twenty-four hours of binkies, blankies, and Blue’s Clues. Staying at home isn’t for everyone.”

  “What’d your husband say?”

  “Jack’s okay with it. He misses some of the extras my income used to buy. I’m enrolling Kiefer in Wee World next week. The teachers seem nice, and the place looks cheerful. You can do it too, Elizabeth. It’s okay to want to go back to work. It doesn’t mean you’re a bad mother.”

  Elizabeth shook her head and continued toward her car, hugging Glenda close to her chest. “My husband would pop his cork. He thinks mothers should stay home with their children. We talked about it at length before Glenda was even born.”

  “That was then.” Katie quickened her pace to keep up with Elizabeth. “Maybe he’s gotten more flexible about it. I remember meeting your husband at the MommyTime family picnic, and he seemed like a really nice fellow.”

  As they neared the parking lot, Katie fished her car keys from her pocketbook. “It couldn’t hurt to discuss it with him. Surely he doesn’t want you to be unhappy.”

  “Is my misery that obvious?” Elizabeth asked, her eyes stinging in the winter wind.

  “I suspected. But I wasn’t sure until after you gave that treasury report. Then, I said to myself, ‘There’s a girl who’s desperate to get out of the nursery and back into the boardroom.’”

  “I don’t know. I keep going round and round, and—”

  “If you do decide to stay home with Glenda, maybe you can be the new MommyTime president. That is, if we can find another place to meet.”

  “What’s wrong with the library?”

  “Mello Vickery is what’s wrong. The librarian just told me she wants us out for good. Mello claims the conference room smells like poo-poo diapers after we leave. Unfortunately, she donates a ton of money to the library every year, so she has a say in the matter.”

  “Oh for heavens sakes,” Elizabeth said just as Katie’s son let out a cranky cry.

  “I better go,” Katie said. She paused for a moment and reached out to squeeze Elizabeth’s hand. “Cheer up, Elizabeth. It’s all right to want to go back to work, really it is.” Then she turned and plodded to her car.

  Elizabeth strapped her daughter into the backseat of the Ford Expedition that Timothy had bought just before Glenda’s birth. (It had eleven cup holders, more evidence of his plans to keep her pregnant for the next decade.)

  She fastened her seat belt and sat frozen with her hands on the steering wheel. Maybe Katie was right. Surely Timothy wouldn’t want her to continue to stay home with Glenda if it made her unhappy, no matter what they’d agreed on before. After all, she’d worked since she was sixteen, first managing the Bottom Dollar Emporium for ten years and then signing on with the marketing department at Hollingsworth Paper Cups.

  She’d gotten only a taste of her dream job at the cup factory when she discovered she was pregnant. She and Timothy hadn’t intended to have babies so quickly (a leak in her diaphragm led to Glenda’s conception), but when they’d discovered a child was on the way, they’d been overjoyed. Who could have predicted that she would miss her career so much?

  Elizabeth put her SUV into reverse. She’d made up her mind. As soon as possible, she’d have a talk with Timothy. She couldn’t go on like this much longer.

  Five

  Jesus is coming. Look busy.

  ~ Sign outside the Rock of Ages Baptist Church

  “Say spaghetti,” Birdie said as she prepared to take a photograph of Mavis, who was posing beside the old-fashioned cash register at the Bottom Dollar Emporium.

  “Spaghetti,” Mavis said through tight lips.

  “I’m so out of practice.” Birdie closed one eye to peer through the lens of her camera as she snapped the picture. “I wish Chiffon was still working at the newspaper. I miss her.”

  Birdie was publisher and reporter for the Cayboo Creek Crier. Her former photographer, Chiffon Butrell, had gone into business for herself, leaving Birdie to take all her own photographs again.

  She made another small adjustment to the camera lens. “This time say gesundheit.”

  “Gesundheit,” Mavis repeated, her hand touching her mouth. “I wonder if this lipstick color i
s too racy. It’s a darker shade than I usually favor.”

  “It’ll read fine in black and white,” Birdie said as the flash went off. “So Mavis, how does it feel to be nominated by the chamber of commerce as Business Person of the Year?”

  Before Mavis could answer, the bell above the door jingled and Elizabeth wandered in, carrying her daughter and a ceramic dish garden flourishing with sprigs of dracaena, ivy, and palm. Her hair looked uncombed and there was a strained carrot stain on her beige sweater.

  “Hey, Mavis, I heard your good news and I—” She eyed her friend’s appearance. “You look gorgeous.”

  “Thank you,” Mavis said with a modest smile. She was dressed to be photographed, wearing a navy pleated skirt with matching jacket and a silk blouse underneath. A paisley scarf, tied around her neck in a jaunty knot, completed the picture.

  Elizabeth set her gift on the checkout counter. “This is for you. Congratulations on your nomination for Business Person of the Year. I just know you’ll win.”

  “How sweet, Elizabeth.” Mavis leaned over the checkout counter to admire the plants. “You should share in this honor. After all, you’re the one who turned this business around.”

  Two years ago, Elizabeth had devised a new marketing strategy for the Bottom Dollar Emporium when a competing national chain store opened nearby.

  “The only thing I’m turning around these days is Glenda when she crawls into mischief.” Elizabeth laughed, but there was a false note to her merriment. Mavis raised an eyebrow at Birdie.

  “Shoot, I gotta go.” Elizabeth glanced at her watch and hurried to the exit. “Glenda has an appointment with the pediatrician. Congratulations, Mavis.”

  “I didn’t even get to cuddle my godchild,” Mavis said with a pout. “Thanks again for the plant,” she called as Elizabeth slipped out the door.

  “She’s not herself,” Mavis said, turning to Birdie.

  “She’s a mother now,” Birdie said.